Shot
by dragonprincess1988
Summary: Sometimes accidents happen
1. Chapter 1

Dick was staring blankly at Tim. "What did you say?"

Tim folded his arms in font of his chest. "You heard me. Next time you feel like butting in, jump off a building without a jump line! You'll do less damage."

Dick put his hands up defensively. "Hey, I was only trying to help."

Tim rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and we saw where your help got me. Next time, just push me off the roof--it'll hurt less."

Dick's gaze fell to the floor. "It's not like I meant for everything to go so unbelievably wrong. It just happens sometimes. Besides it's not like you've never screwed up before."

Tim shook his head. "No, you're right about that, but I've never gotten you shot, either."

Dick threw his hands up in the air. "I said I was sorry. Leslie said you would heal just fine. Can't you just let it go?"

Tim glared at him. "Can't I just let it go? Wow, you really don't get it, do you?"

Dick heaved a large sigh, and then sat back in his chair. "Tim, look, I apologized. I'm staying with you for the next couple of weeks to help you out. There's nothing else I can do about it. What more do you want from me?"

Tim turned his head to the side, and stared out the window. "I don't want anything from you. In fact, I really would prefer if you weren't the one staying here with me for the duration of my stay in hell."

Dick got up, and placed a hand on Tim's shoulder. "Timmy, come on, don't be like that. You know it was an accident."

Tim turned to face him again. "Tell you what…go get shot in leg…better yet, let me shoot you in the leg and we'll call it even." Tim looked away again.

Dick's eyes grew wide. "What? I am not letting you shoot me in the leg. I told you it was an accident. Now let it go! It's not like I was the one holding the gun or anything."

Tim stared furiously at him. "So just because you weren't holding the gun, you're not responsible in anyway for what happened? Typical Grayson right there."

Dick sat down on the bed next to Tim. "That's not what I said, and you know it; and what do mean by 'typical Grayson right there'?"

Tim pushed himself back up onto the pillows. "I mean, you were there, you were involved, and, had you done what I told you to, I wouldn't have been shot in the leg and we wouldn't be having this conversation. Do you always just jump into things without thinking, or is that just when I'm around?"

Dick ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Timmy, shut up. The bullet didn't shatter bone or anything. In a couple weeks you'll be fine. Now drop it!"

"Fine, but I still blame you." Tim pointed to the door, and Dick walked out without another word.


	2. Chapter 2

Dick sat down at the kitchen table across from Barbara. "Tim won't talk to me. It's been a week, and he hasn't said one word to me. He won't even ask me for help when it's obvious he needs it. He just keeps struggling and struggling until finally I give in and help him without him asking, and then he doesn't even say thank you or acknowledge my existence."

Barbara sipped her tea. "Have you tried to talk to him since it happened? And not about the incident, or his lack of acknowledging you, I mean."

Dick wrapped his hands around his own cup. "Yeah, I've tried everything to get a normal conversation going. All he does is stare out the window, and if we're in a room with no windows, he just stares at the wall or the ceiling--anything to avoid looking at me."

Barbara looked slightly surprised. "Wow that is bad. Has Bruce or anyone been by or anything? I know he's staying here with you for convenience, but don't you think he'd be more comfortable at the manor?"

Dick took another sip from his cup. "Yeah, Alfred stopped by with some stuff for him earlier in the week. I thought the same thing about the manor, but the moment I mentioned him staying there, he threw his microbiology book at me. Only time the kid registered I was there, and I got a nice bruise for it." Dick pointed to the side of his head.

Barbara lightly ran her fingers over the raised skin. "Ouch. Did he talk to Alfred while he was here?"

Dick placed his cup back on the table. "Nah, Tim was asleep when he stopped by."

Barbara stared at him somewhat concerned. "So, has Tim talked to anyone since…well…you know?"

Dick shrugged. "Not that I know of."

Barbara tapped her fingers on the table in consideration. "Then maybe it's not just you he's angry with. In fact, it's possible he isn't even mad at you. He could just be taking it out on you because you're the only one around."

Dick rolled his eyes. "Oh, that makes me feel so much better. So, what? One good hit to the head, I tell him to grow up, and we call it good?"

Barbara laughed lightly. "Not exactly what I had in mind. Do you want me to try and talk to him?"

Dick smiled back at her. "Sure, you want me to remove all of the books from his room first?"

Barbara shook her head. "No, I don't think that will be necessary. Tim should know from watching you that making me angry isn't a good thing."

Dick nodded. "Yeah, I guess. Hey, wait. What's that supposed to mean?"

Barbara giggled softly. "Oh nothing, don't worry your pretty little head about it." She allowed her laughter to die away, and then turned serious. "Anyway, I'll go in and talk to him now. Why don't you stay here, and finish your drink?"

Dick picked up his cup again. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea. The fewer books thrown at my head the better."

Barbara wheeled herself into the room where Tim was. "Hey, how's the leg?"

Tim was lying on the bed staring out the window when she came in. He looked at her, shrugged, and then continued to stare out the window.

Barbara moved so she was in between the window and Tim. "I brought you something." She handed him a book. "I like to read it when I'm not feeling well."

Tim took the book, and placed it on the nightstand without looking at it or her. Then he turned onto his back, and began to stare at the ceiling.

Barbara pinched the bridge of her nose. "Tim, why aren't you talking to me? Why aren't you talking to anyone?" He didn't respond, nor did his gaze ever leave the ceiling. "Tim, I'm not going anywhere until you talk. You don't even have to talk to me or Dick. You could get on the phone and call Alfred for all I care, but you have to talk to someone. Hell, I don't even care what you talk about…just talk."

Tim turned his back to her, and shut his eyes. She moved closer. "Tim, I mean it. Talk to me. Talk to someone!"

Tim rolled over onto his stomach. His face was buried in the pillow, and he pointed to the door. "Don't forget to shut it on the way out." His voice was muffled by the pillow, but she heard his words loud and clear.

They weren't the words she wanted to hear, nor were they the words she had expected to hear, but he did speak, which was far more than Dick had gotten out of him in over a week. So, she accepted her small inconsequential victory, and left the room.

Dick was leaning against the wall next to the door when Barbara came out. "So, how'd it go?"

Barbara sighed. "I got a 9 word sentence out of him. Unfortunately, it was him telling me to get out."

Dick made a swiping motion with his hand. "I'm going to hit him, I swear."

Barbara gently grabbed his hand. "Maybe once Tim is better, his mood will be too. I guess the best you can do is try to be nice to him, and be there for him. I'll try to come by later in the week." She gave him a quick hug, and left.


	3. Chapter 3

Barbara was holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she typed. "So, figure out what's up with Tim yet?"

"No." Dick's voice was strained; Barbara could tell he was tired and frustrated.

She smiled to herself as she thought about how he was probably running his hand through his hair the way he always did when he got frustrated. "Well, you said you had a new plan to get him to at least acknowledge you. How did that go?"

Dick laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Yeah, I got him to acknowledge me long enough for him to continue to not say anything and throw one math book at me, a metal flashlight, and a stack of old cookbooks. Why did he have a stack of old cookbooks anyway?"

Barbara chuckled lightly. "Ah, I think I can help with that great mystery. I gave them to him for Christmas one year as a practical joke. He said he knew how to cook, and I told him to prove he could make more than just macaroni and cheese. He made me one dish out of each cookbook, and I gotta say, the kid can do some amazing work in the kitchen."

Dick rubbed his side as he spoke. "Well, thanks for that. Now I have a nice bruise on my side from where most of them hit me."

"Wait a second. Explain this to me. You can handle taking down seven muggers without breaking a sweat, but a stack of cookbooks defeats you?" She couldn't help but laugh again.

Dick sounded indignant. "Hey, give a guy a break. I was busy dodging everything else he was throwing at me--in an enclosed space, mind you. Plus Tim has a strong arm, and really great aim."

Barbara rolled her eyes, and Dick knew she was doing it too. "Yeah, yeah, so…what did you do to make him that angry, anyway?"

Dick smiled as he thought about it. "I told Tim I was just going to continue annoying him until he acknowledged I was there. I went around singing annoying Christmas songs, had full conversations with myself, constantly got in his way, and I stood between him and whatever he was staring at every chance I got. I pretty much only left him alone when he absolutely had to sleep. He's pretty strong-willed though. He went through that hell for four days before he flipped out, but like I said, he still hasn't spoken to me." Dick's words were laced with what sounded like pride for Tim and sadness.

Barbara tried to be comforting and reassuring, but even she wasn't sure how long Tim would continue acting this way. "Be patient; give it time. He'll come around. I know he will… or, at least, I hope he will."

Dick scoffed. "Easy for you to say, you're not the one here with him all day, every day. I've tried to get him to go outside, but he won't. I've tried to get him to look at me, or talk to me, but he won't. I've tried to get him to talk to someone…anyone, but he won't. He hasn't even touched his laptop--doesn't even look at it. I'm actually kind of surprised he hasn't thrown it at me yet. He seems to hate it as much as he hates me at the moment. He doesn't watch TV. He'll stare at the blank screen, but he never turns it on. He hardly even reads. Almost every time I go in there he's staring out the window like he's waiting for something… Or is it that he's waiting for someone?" Dick's voice lightened all of a sudden.

Barbara was beyond confused. "What? You stopped making sense there. What are you talking about?"

"It's nothing. I got to go. Talk to you later, Babs." Dick hung up the phone before she could say anything, and ran to Tim's room.

Dick burst through the door, and ran in. "I figured it out! You're pissed because Bruce hasn't been to see you. He hasn't even called or spoken to you in anyway since before it happened. You're not mad at me or anyone else for that matter. Well, no one but yourself. You're blaming yourself because he hasn't contacted you. You think it's your fault, and that you screwed up because of him."

Tim stared at him wide-eyed. Dick thought he looked as though he was about to say something, but instead Tim turned onto his side and wouldn't face him. Dick walked over to the side of the bed and sat down next to him. "Come on, Timmy, I'm right, aren't I?"

Dick was expecting Tim to point at the door and tell him to get out. He figured the most he would get out of Tim would be a fight…if not being ignored as usual. Dick never considered what would happen if he got the reaction he actually received. Tim began to sniffle, and then began to slowly let the tears fall. Tim was so quiet that Dick would have never known he was crying if he hadn't seen the teardrops himself. Dick placed a hand on Tim's shoulder. "Tim, it's okay. It's not your fault."

Tim pulled his shoulder away. "Shut up. What do you know?" His voice was soft, but strong.

Dick put his hand back and pulled Tim over so he was facing him. "Hey, I know a lot. I was there, remember?"

"Yeah, so you got to watch my uselessness first hand. Go me." His words were dripping in sarcasm, and his eyes held no emotion.

"Hey, I thought you said you blamed me for what happened." Dick words were soft and calm even if he was still slightly angry about that.

Tim shrugged. "Yeah, it made me feel better for about five seconds." Again, Tim wasn't looking at Dick--instead, he was staring at a spot on the wall behind him.

"Then what the hell was with the silent treatment?" His voice was louder when he spoke this time, giving vent to his anger.

"It hurt less to be silent." Tim's voice dropped again.

Dick didn't know what to say to that, so he said the first thing that came to mind. "For you, maybe-- the rest of us were hurt that you wouldn't talk to us, and you made me think it was my fault, you jerk." Dick punched Tim lightly in arm.

Tim shrugged again. "I thought you would figure it out. How was I supposed to know it would take you so long? I'm sorry about that by the way. You didn't deserve that…none of you did. You know, sometimes I hate Bruce."

Dick chuckled. "Sometimes we all hate Bruce, but the old brooder grows on you."

Tim smiled for the first time in weeks. "Do you think we could go out or something? I mean, if you want to."

Dick couldn't help but muss Tim's hair. "Yeah, we could do that. Just let me call Babs first, and let her know you're okay." Tim nodded, and Dick grabbed his cell.

The End


End file.
